Chapter 9: Bullied

Paul had been half afraid of something like this: Mia was flirting with them. Them, plural. Mo and him.

“They’re with me,” Mia was even seeing off a girl who’d been dancing a bit close.

“See?” she grinned at him and Mo, as the girl moved away to safer territory, “you’re the hottest guys around.” She’d had a few drinks and was looking a bit wild. That would also be why she was calling him hot, he could only guess.

She’d got them into a licensed restaurant and now into this club, and was into Dry Martinis. Made up to look about twenty, and in that clubber’s outfit with thigh boots, miniskirt, bare midriff and vest top, she was the guy-magnet every club owner wanted through his doors. Paul and Mo had followed her like zombies, and the guys on the door had been too focussed on Mia to even look at them, despite the fact there was supposed to be an eighteen limit here - the club Mia had chosen because the music was rock and oldies and not too loud to think or talk over.

Paul swayed from side to side, trying to copy other guys and practising moving his feet a little and his arms not so much. Mo was doing a bit better, but not a lot, while Mia swayed fluidly in front of both of them. She was grinning, having a great time, swirling her long hair right round now with the rhythm. She was so physical. Paul was wondering what was going to happen when a slow song came on.

All too soon Hey Jude was playing, seven minutes long if he remembered correctly, and her scent seemed to envelop him like her personality as she danced closer and closer. By the time the song was at ‘na, na, na nananaNa’ she was singing along and pulling him and Mo into a huddle.

“C’mon guys,” she urged them. “nananaNa!” She pulled harder. Seriously he’d have had to fight to get out of it. He sang along a bit, until mercifully the song ended. Okay well he was grinning, and so was Mo even. “So guys, you’re not drinking very much.” Her face was awfully close. Like if he turned his head her way he might find he was making out with her.

“Well I don’t drink a lot,” he explained. He’d had a Coors Lite with the meal already.

“Muslims don’t drink,” said Mo. He’d said so at the restaurant and again here.

“Some Muslims do,” argued Mia, “and I’m not saying drink a lot. Just have a lager like everyone else.”

“Okay I guess so, thanks.” Paul went with the flow, as usual. It wasn’t worth arguing about, and he was in a club, for the first time. In clubs you drank. Maybe it would loosen up his dancing.

“Proper Muslims don’t drink at all,” said Mo. “I’ll just have an orange juice. Thanks.”

“Okay,” said Mia, slightly to Mo’s surprise. He watched her go and join the scrum at the bar. It felt wrong that a girl was going to the bar instead of a guy, but as she’d said this way there was less chance of them all being thrown out.

Mia got to the bar and started to ease her way in between two big guys, who had a little gap between them because they were friends and partly facing each other. They detected her scent, saw her bare shoulder and moved apart to get a better look at her. Mia slid swiftly into the space and stretched her bare arm across the bar, holding a 20-Euro note. A bartender looked, she smiled at him and he stepped over, shamelessly ignoring everyone else.

“Un Grimbergen Triple, un Martini sec pur avec de la glace et du citron, et une double vodka et orange avec de la glace,” she specified. If you were clear and decisive they’d pick you out sooner next time too. He started reaching for glasses with practised efficiency.

“You brought your little brothers?” asked the big guy on her right, in French. He was mid-twenties, and very male. His eyes flickered across to where Paul and Mo were standing watching, not dancing any more and looking all of fifteen and sixteen.

“They’re my dates for tonight,” Mia grinned, sharing the joke but also sending a message.

“Well when it’s their bedtime,” said the one on her left, “come back and see us, alright?”

“I’m with them,” smiled Mia as she collected her drinks. “Keep looking guys.”

She went back to the boys. They were young it was true, but somehow they were hers. Hers and Grace’s. A bit of a project, possibly, but. And she wasn’t actually older than them anyway, she’d just developed pretty early. She was even getting to like Mo, curiously. Well he had apologised, after all, and not everyone could do that. There’d been times when some people might have been unpleasant, and he hadn’t been. And her papa said guys could be as much victims of macho expectations as women.

She danced a couple more tracks with them, and they were loosening up nicely as their secretly strong drinks went down. Mo was even smiling a bit and Paul was hardly looking nervous at all, until - shit - the big guys from the bar were coming over. It looked like they’d had another couple of drinks too. They started dancing right next to her, facing her way.